Wait, I'm a WHAT?
by Firestorm Nauralagos
Summary: Mary-Sue parody. Nimril Elithil Melbereth Glossiel, adopted daughter of Lord Elrond, daughter of a Maia, is absolutely perfect in every way. She meets a girl from Earth who happens to know what she is and everything goes downhill from there. PARODY.
1. Chapter 1: The Obnoxiously Suish Sue

_**A/N:**_ _This is edit number THREE of this chapter O_o I promised that I'd begin updating this story again by Halloween, and I'm still working on chapter 11- however, there are a few revisions I need to do with the rest of this story. Just for the record, I'm rewriting this entire aslkdjfls thing, as opposed to just editing minor grammar errors like I was originally planning. I'm gonna end up with a headache … XP The whole thing is going to be more obnoxious, and __**I am going to use more sarcasm- even in the prose **__;) To those of you who read the last two versions of this chapter, let me know if the sarcastic prose works; I still haven't decided if I like it._

_By the way, the Sue herself scored a whopping 207 on the Mary-Sue Litmus Test xD_

_Also … to those of you that are reading this for the first time, IT'S A PARODY! It's supposed to be stupid, and the character is supposed to be a Mary-Sue, so please don't flame me and tell me how Sue-ish she is- that's the point! :P You will probably notice that __**Gandalf **__in particular is __**NOT IN CHARACTER.**_ _That's on purpose._

_Last thing: I have re-drawn the cover and will probably put the new one up at some point soonish, but for now, there will be a temporary cover I made on paint._

_**Many thanks to my beta reader, Snowfire the Kitsune. :)**_

_**Disclaimer:**_ _All I own is my O.C.'s and my brain. Wait a second . . . oh, CRAP! I lost it again! Has anyone seen a brain anywhere? I might have left it with my sanity in my locker . . ._

_**Chapter One: The Obnoxiously Suish Sue**_

Nimril Elithil Melbereth Glossiel sat in the middle of a small clearing in the forest. She sat upon a tree stump, which had magically sprouted a soft pillow of grass for her. Many small woodland animals clustered around the edge of the clearing, each one trying to hear the beautiful music that floated through the air.

Nimril herself was even more beautiful than the day; her long, flowing golden locks outshone the sun. Her creamy white skin practically sparkled. The faintest scent of lilac hung in the air around her, and a small, crescent shaped scar very nearly marred her perfect face- of course, Nimril's beauty more than overpowered any (gasp!) _ugliness _the scar might possibly cause. A mithril star hung around her neck. Her dazzling lavender eyes were lowered demurely as she lightly strummed a harp made of silver and pearl. She sang softly about how annoyingly perfect she was- just kidding. Nimril was far too modest to sing about herself, and so instead she sang of Imladris, her home.

As she sang, daisies and roses bloomed at her feet and adorned the hem of her ruby-red gown. The normally-flowerless trees that encircled the clearing sprouted white blossoms at the sound of her voice, and a falcon's cry echoed in the woods as the bird swooped down to land on Nimril's shoulder.

"Hello, Gwaeren," she murmured, stroking the falcon's wing. The white wolf beside her tensed slightly as Gwaeren landed, but a glance from Nimril calmed her.

"Nimril!" A voice called from a short distance away. "Where are you?"

"I am here," she called softly, and a black haired ellon stepped into the clearing, taking care not to tread on any of the newly bloomed flowers. He smiled when he saw her. "Hello, Elladan," the absolutely perfect Elf said to her adoptive brother.

"There you are! Father is searching for you. He says that he has very important news for you." He extended a hand, which Nimril took before rising gracefully. She tucked her harp into her bag before raising a hand so it was level with her shoulder. Gwaeren stepped lightly onto her wrist before gliding down to Helchien's shoulder. The wolf shivered at the weight, but otherwise she didn't move.

"Shall I ask Rosspen to carry me home?" The ellon nodded.

"You must have come farther than you thought, sister. It is nearly an hour's walk back to Imladris."

"An hour? Truly? Well, then I will call for Helegion as well; he will bear you back home." She produced a small flute from her bag and played a short tune on it. After a minute, two animals raced into the clearing. One was a majestic horse, a silver mare with black speckled wings. "Rosspen," the elleth murmured, stroking the pegasus' nose. The other was a snow leopard. His coat was whiter than the cleanest snow, and covered with small black spots, each one ringed in gray. His wide shoulders and broad paws were those of a climbing cat, and his piercing blue eyes stared up at Nimril.

_Command us, my lady,_ the leopard whispered. His speech was easily heard and understood in the mind of his mistress, but to Elladan, the sound was only a hiss.

_Please bring me and my brother to Imladris, Rosspen and Helegion,_ Nimril replied through her thoughts. The leopard and the pegasus bowed their heads, allowing Nimril and Elladan to mount them.

A moment later, the two Elves were racing through the forest, Nimril on Rosspen, Elladan on Helegion. Nimril smiled as Rosspen galloped into Imladris ahead of Helegion, her hooves clattering loudly on the light brown stones. She rode through the bright, sunlit valley and down to the Last Homely House, the house of Lord Elrond. Her adoptive father stood in front of the entrance, staring at her intently. Nimril reined Rosspen to a halt in front of him, dismounted easily, and curtsied to the Elf.

"Dhe suilon, Nimril."

"Mae g'ovannen, Adar. Elladan has told me that you have news for me."

"Yes. Today, I am hosting a great council, and I would like you to attend. Your knowledge will be most helpful, and your presence will be calming to the others. We will be discussing the One Ring." He shuddered slightly as he said the evil name. Nimril bowed her head in submission.

"Of course I will come. Whatever you wish, my lord. I trust that Frodo is well again?" A few days before, Nimril's magical singing had healed Frodo from his wound. It would never fade completely, even with her skills.

"After the miracle you performed, sellig, of course he is well. Why, just this morning, I saw him walking in the gardens with his friend."

"Oh, I didn't do much," Nimril replied modestly, shaking her head and smiling. "Elladan, come and greet our father." The ellon stepped forwards and bowed to Elrond.

"Father, will you tell her of your other surprise?" He whispered, trying hard to prevent Nimril from hearing. Naturally, it didn't work; after all, Nimril's hearing was far advanced from that of the other Elves'.

"Tell me of what, Father?" Elrond smiled.

"You know of Mithrandir's arrival." She nodded.

"I have."

"He will be schooling you in magic, starting today." Nimril gasped. Magic? From _Mithrandir_? He was one of the greatest of the five Ithryn!

"Oh, but Adar! I am not worthy to learn magic, not from a true Ithron! Besides, I am sure I do not have the skill."

"Nonsense. Your mother was a Maia! Any descendant of a Maia is worthy of learning magic."

Nimril's delicate lips turned downwards slightly, her eyes saddening at the mention of her mother.

"If you wish it to be so, my lord, it shall be so," she whispered, closing her eyes against the tears, which were threatening to spill. Elrond nodded, satisfied.

"Good. He shall meet you in the courtyard soon. He will instruct you for one hour, and then you will have another hour before the Council meets."

"I shall see you there, then?"

"You shall. Farewell, and good luck with your magic studies." Elrond kissed his daughter on the cheek, and then he turned, his robes swishing as he departed. Elladan winked at her, and then followed.

Later, in the courtyard, Nimril was seated on a stone bench when Gandalf appeared. His dull gray robes swirled around his feet, a tall blue hat sat on his head, and he held a gnarled wooden staff.

"'Ullo, Lady," Gandalf said, bowing low to her. She smiled.

"Greetings, Mithrandir. Father says that you are to instruct me in magic."

"Aye. Take this practice staff; ye will receive a far better one after yer trainin' is complete." He handed her a tall, ornately carved white staff. There was a large globe on either end, and the handle was carved into a twisting swirl.

"I hope you didn't go to much trouble, finding such a fine staff that I will only use in practice," she said softly, running one hand along the handle. The wood felt cool and slippery beneath her fingers, like it has been raised from a sapling just to be made into her staff.

"Oh, no, it was no trouble at all. Anythin' fer you, Lady Nimril." She blushed and took the staff.

"Mithrandir, I'm not so important."

"You are, m'lady. You are the adopted daughter of Lord Elrond. You'll receive only the best from me." Nimril smiled at him, a dazzlingly bright smile that could even enchant an Uruk-hai.

"Thank you, Mithrandir."

"Of course. Let us begin."

_**Elvish translations:**_

_Nimril = white brilliance_

_Elithil = moon star_

_Melbereth = love queen_

_Glossiel = daughter of snow_

_Gwaeren = Windy_

_Helchien = Daughter of Bitter Cold One_

_Rosspen = Rainy One_

_Helegion = Son of Ice_

_Elleth= female Elf_

_Ellon = male Elf_

_Dhe suilon = I greet you/greetings_

_Mae g'ovannen = Well met_

_Sellig = daughter_

_Ithron (Plural Ithryn) = Wizard_


	2. Chapter 2: WAY Out of Town

_**A/N: **__Here is the edited version of chapter two :D This one has a few less edits than the first chapter did, since I was mostly happy with the first version. There have been a few characterization and wording changes, but nothing crazy._

_**Chapter Two: WAY Out of Town**_

Despite Nimril's insistence that she was not nearly skilled enough to learn magic, she absolutely _flew _through her first lesson. In a mere two hours, she had already mastered most of what Gandalf could teach her.

"I must say, m'dear, yer a natural wizard!" The _real _Ithron proclaimed.

"Mithrandir, you are far too kind; you are much better at magic than I," she replied modestly, giving him a sweet smile. "Thank you for the lovely lesson; I must return home now. The Council meets very shortly, and I have a few tasks to finish before then." She curtsied to the wizard and departed, her skirt swishing softly.

Her bedroom was perfect in every way. The floor was covered in a soft mat of reeds and grass, the walls were made of pale gold stones, and the ceiling was painted to resemble the night sky. In the center of the room was a canopy bed made of birch wood, with a soft gray canopy and matching sheets. Off to the side was a birch wood table, and sitting on it was a stack of books, all in different languages. One, the newest book, was entirely in Khuzdul, which her Dwarf visitors were teaching her. Nimril set her staff down carefully beside the bed before walking over to her wardrobe. In it hung dresses of several colors; she had to find exactly the right one for the Council meeting. Her eyes drifted over first a sapphire blue dress, and then a lavender one, and she finally settled on one the color of a dove's feathers. The sash was snowy white, and dove feathers were sewn into a swirling pattern on the skirt. She quickly changed, set a crown of swan feathers in her hair, and left her room. There was still an hour before the Council began; that would be enough time to become acquainted with some of the visitors. Nimril knew where most of them would be: the Hall of Fire.

Sure enough, strains of music and song could be heard from within the hall. When she stepped inside, the room became quite silent, and dozens of unfamiliar faces turned towards her. Each of them held a look of adoration or awe as they stared at her. The Elf smiled gently and waved to her guests.

"Please, continue your music. It sounded lovely from outside," she called to them. The harpers resumed their haunting melody (not that it could match Nimril's own music) and she began wandering among the guests. The first two that she met were a pair of Dwarves. The gray-bearded fellow introduced himself as Gloin, and his red-haired son was called Gimli. They smiled stupidly at her, and she returned the smile (although her's was far more intelligent) before continuing around the room. Sitting in the corner were four Hobbits, all of whom jumped to their feet and bowed as she approached.

"Lady Nimril!" They exclaimed.

"Greetings, all of you. You must be the other Halflings my father spoke of," she said. The plumpest of the Hobbits spoke up.

"Aye, ma'am. That we are- Hobbits is what we call ourselves. I'm Samwise Gamgee! You know, I wrote a poem 'bout you once-"

"That's lovely, Mr. Gamgee. I would love to hear it tonight," Nimril interrupted his rambling softly. "And who might you three be?"

"I'm Meriadoc, Lady Nimril. I've heard so much about you . . . you're even more beautiful than the stories say! That's Pip; he's too stupid to talk most of the time." The Sue- er, rather, the Elf maid glanced pityingly at Pippin, who was staring at her oldest of the Hobbits introduced himself as Bilbo Baggins, and he thanked her profusely for saving Frodo's life with her healing powers. The four Hobbits fawned over Nimril for a moment longer before she waved goodbye and went to meet the others.

Several minutes later, when she finally got away from a group of adoring ellons, she found her father standing near a table.

"Ah, Nimril. There you are. Have you met all of our guests?"

"I believe so, Adar. They seem like a pleasant group. The Hobbits were very sweet."

"The Elves and Men seemed particularly smitten with you," he observed. Nimril was surprised.

"Really? You thought so? I hadn't noticed anything. Shall I play my harp and sing before the Council meets?"

"Of course, sellig. That would be lovely. Before you do, however, Gandalf was searching for you. I believe there is someone he would like you to meet." Elrond wrinkled his nose in disgust; clearly, he found this "someone" rather distasteful.

"Who is it?"

"Some girl with her head in the clouds and her nose in a book," he scoffed. "Gandalf is over there, last I saw him."

"I will speak with him immediately," Nimril said, curtsying before heading in the direction Lord Elrond had indicated.

A small person was speaking with the Ithron as she drew nearer, and at first glance Nimril thought that it was a Hobbit. Upon closer inspection, however, she realized that it was a young human girl, no older than 14 or 15 years.

"M'lady, how may oi be o' service?" Gandalf asked her, leaning heavily on his staff and completely ignoring the human girl.

"My father said you wished to speak with me?" The wizard seemed confused for a moment. "There is someone you would like me to meet," Nimril prompted, glancing at the human girl, who rolled her eyes.

"The S- the _lady _means me, Gandalf," she informed him in an annoyed tone, prodding Gandalf with a finger.

"Oh! Right! M'lady, this is Mora. Mora, meet the Lady o' Riv'ndell!" Nimril took a moment to study the younger girl. She was rather plain looking, the elleth observed, and her black hair hung loosely around her thin shoulders. Her dark brown eyes peered at Nimril through the lenses of gray-rimmed glasses. A few freckles were scattered across her pale skin, and her thin lips were pressed into a disinterested frown. This "Mora" wore entirely black- not a dress, like the few other human women did, but a long sleeved tunic of some sort and the oddest sort of trousers Nimril had ever seen. A long black scarf completed her ensemble.

The girl's hands were restless and twitched frequently, often reaching up to her ear to fiddle with a pencil tucked there. It seemed like she wanted nothing more than to stop talking and scribble something onto the pad of paper she clutched tightly in her right hand.

"Hello, Moira. I am Nimril Elithil Melbereth Glossiel of Imladris, the adopted daughter of Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrian. I am pleased to meet you."

"My name is _Mora, _not Moira," the younger human retorted, frowning even more. Nimril noticed that she had a strange accent, and her words were frosty and clipped brutally short.

"My apologies, Mora. Are you from around here? Your accent is unfamiliar to me."

"No. I'm from … out of town. _Way _out of town," she added as an afterthought. "You wouldn't know the place."

"Oh? What kingdom are you from, then? Rohan, perhaps?" Nimril had never been to Rohan, but she had heard they spoke another language there, and their accents were very different from that of the Gondorians that she had met. Mora shook her head.

"Not even close. Gandalf, may I- uh- have a word with you? _Alone?" _For some reason, this "Mora" bewildered Nimril. She couldn't read her thoughts, like she could with most Elves, Men, Dwarves and Hobbits. Then again, Mora was nothing like anyone the Elven lady had ever met before. The mortal didn't seem scared of her at all. She had met Nimril's eyes squarely and studied her as intently as Nimril had studied her. As she hauled Gandalf out of the Hall of Fire and away down the hallway, the elleth studied Mora's receding form. There was something very strange about that girl ...


	3. Chapter 3: Mora's Bat Cave

_**A/N: **__I didn't really do much editing in this chapter; I really just changed a few characterization details and took out some description I didn't need. This chapter will be shorter than the last two, but I think I'll be able to make the next chapter a little longer._

_**Chapter 3: Mora's Bat Cave**_

Mora lead Gandalf down a corridor, moving as quickly as she could. Every so often, the mortal girl would glance behind her nervously, pause for a moment, and then continue.

"Mora, if oi may ask, why are we movin' with such haste? What is there t' fear with the Lady Nimril in this house?" Gandalf asked, puffing slightly as he hurried after her. She held a finger up to her lips, motioning for quiet.

"I'll explain when we get there."

"Get where?" She didn't respond. The two wove through the twisting halls, sometimes turning around and running in the opposite direction for a while, sometimes stopping altogether. When Mora finally halted, they were standing in front of a black door. The girl glanced both ways, behind her, and even up at the ceiling before placing a hand on the doorknob, pushing the door open, and shoving the ithron inside. He glared at her indignantly as she entered, closed the door, and locked it tightly, using a small silver key she had produced from her pocket.

"We're here," Mora announced. For the first time, Gandalf took in his surroundings. The walls were covered in large black drapes, and the only window was shrouded in dark, heavy room was small, and it was lit only by a few small torches that sat in sconces on the walls. The sconces were black, and were composed of several twisting metal vines. The room was empty, with the exception of a desk (black) a chair (black) and a bookcase. Oh, and the books.

There were dozens of them, maybe even hundreds. They had covers in several different colors. They were in six different languages that Gandalf could count, some familiar, others that he couldn't understand. They were heaped untidily onto the bookcase, some piled on top of others, and a few had spilled onto the floor. There was an open book sitting on the desk, with a quill pen, a rag, and an ink bottle beside it.

"Wot is this place? Oi 'ave never seen it before, and oi 'ave traveled to Imladris many times," Gandalf stammered, bewildered.

"This is my hiding place. You've never come here because it didn't exist before I arrived in Middle-earth." Her voice became even colder as she spoke of her arrival. "As I said, I needed to speak with you alone. We had to travel in that pattern to find this place; if you could remember anything at all, you'd know that you protected it with magic, only allowing me to find it if I became completely lost. Do you remember?" Mora sounded desperate, panicked, even. Gandalf looked confused.

"Remember? Remember wot?" The mortal shook her head in dismay.

"I figured. Nimril is too strong for you to overcome," she sighed. "I have to explain something that won't make much sense to you: Nimril isn't real." The wizard opened his mouth to protest, but Mora cut him off. "I know it's hard to believe, but you've got to try and remember. Think back, before you arrived in Rivendell, before you were attacked by Saruman, before Bree." Her tone took on a soft, distant sound. Gandalf closed his eyes, trying to get lost in her words. "You were visiting the Shire. Everyone was cheerful, as usual, and the place was buzzing with activity. It was the day of Bilbo Baggins' birthday party. You had just delivered your fireworks."

"Fireworks?" He was utterly lost at that point.

"Yes, Gandalf. Fireworks. You don't remember at all, do you? You used to be known for your fireworks. One moment, you were talking to Bilbo, and the next moment, the ground shook, and the sky exploded into lavender and white light. You saw something terrible approaching. Nothing seemed wrong until you got to Rivendell, where you met the 'Lady' Nimril, 'adopted daughter' of Elrond. The moment you laid eyes on her, you forgot everything you knew, every important event except for those in the Original Tale."

"Wot is this 'Original Tale?'" he asked suspiciously.

"The Original Tale is the real story, the one written by Tolkien himself. He's gone now, but he used to live here, in Middle-earth. His home was in the Shire, and it was a room much like mine. Filled with books, and it contained only a desk, chair and bookcase. Since Tolkien, there have been many Guardians, protectors of the Original Tale that were chosen for a specific purpose. I am the newest Guardian, successor to Alice. Do you remember her?" Slowly, Gandalf shook his head. The wizard knew that, every time he admitted not knowing something, Mora became more unhappy, but it was true. He remembered nothing that she was speaking of.

"I am sorry, Mora, but I do not remember anyone called a 'Guardian,' or Alice, or Tolkien, or even this 'Original Tale.' Oi don't think oi liked fireworks, did oi?" Mora dropped her head into her hands.

"She's so much more powerful than I thought . . ." she sighed. "Nimril is something horrible, a creature with enough power to destroy your world forever. She's a Bainthoreth, a Mary-Sue."

"A WOT?" Mora rolled her eyes.

"We've got some serious work to do . . . "


	4. Chapter 4: The Council of Nimril

_**A/N: **__Like last chapter, I didn't change too much. There are a few differences in wording and I changed some of the last few paragraphs, and that's about it. There will also be more sarcastic commentary- 'cuz I can :P_

_**Chapter 4: The Council of Nimrod- er, I mean Nimril ;)**_

"The Council of Elrond will now come to order," Elrond announced, taking his seat t the head of the circle. Mora rolled her eyes and ignored the lengthy, speech that the Elf lord began, instead choosing to take notes on the state of things.

All the members of the Council were badly affected by the presence of Nimril. All of the Elves were staring at her stupidly, the dwarves were smiling and whispering to one another, all the Men were watching her carefully and glaring at the others, Gandalf was smiling proudly (he'd gotten the seat next to her) and the Hobbits were gazing at her in awe, very closely resembling a pair of deer in headlights.

Mora flipped open her new black book and took a dull pencil from behind her ear, starting to divide each page in half. She placed a heading at the top of each section. The topics were the members of the Council. She had to assess how much damage had been done by this particular Sue, and the lists were long. Elrond was acting like a judge. Every single Elf was staring at Nimril as if in a trance of adoration. The Dwarves had absolutely no issue sitting next to their sworn enemies- unless Nimril's affections were at stake, of course-, and the Hobbits . . . well, they seemed to be the worst. Mora cringed as she read her lists, which were becoming steadily longer. She added a few columns of attributes that had remained the same about some characters. Those lists were miniscule.

"Father, may I be the first to share my story?" Nimril asked softly. _She certainly didn't wait to share her sob story, _Mora thought. She flipped to a blank page and titled it "Sob Story."

"Of course, my daughter." Nimril stood and walked to the center of the circle.

"My mother, a Maia named Isilmiel, was wed to an Elf of Lórien named Fairion. I was born 1,000 years ago, before the One Ring had truly become a problem yet. My father-name was Glossiel, as I was born with hair whiter than snow. I was later named 'Melbereth' by my mother on her deathbed. My father became a cruel and evil Elf after the death of Isilmiel. He forced me to work as a slave, and whenever I resisted, he beat me." She brushed a bit of hair away from her cheek, revealing her crescent-shaped scar. There was a collective gasp. "He did this to me."

Mora made a note, and her frown deepened.

"Three years ago, I became tired of his abuse, and so I ran. I fled his house on my own feet, taking nothing but this pendant with me." She showed off her _mithril_ star. "It was a gift from my mother. When I had run for many days, I came across a snow leopard. I spoke to him and tamed him, learning that his name was Helegion. I asked Helegion to carry me to Rivendell, and he agreed."

Mora mentally face-palmed as she wrote. The "sob story" was clearly meant to distract the Council from its true purpose, and thus far Nimril had been doing a spectacular job of just that.

"Kindly Lord Elrond took me in, and he soon adopted me as his own daughter."

_Yeah, right._

"Dear Arwen didn't take kindly to my arrival, unfortunately. Since I joined her family, she has been cruel and unkind to me."

_Gag._

A few small tears escaped the corners of her eyes, causing a sigh of pity from everyone in the room. "It was only until my Lord Elrond locked her in the dungeon that her brutal attacks stopped."

Mora inhaled sharply. The Evenstar was in a _dungeon_? Not good. She would have to be released soon; she could prove a valuable ally, as long as she wasn't deluded too badly by Nimril.

"Elladan and Elrohir, however, have been quite kind, and they've made my life here very pleasant, indeed." The twins blushed simultaneously. "It wasn't long before I met Helchien and Gwaeren, a white wolf and a falcon, and I found Rosspen, a pegasus, a few years ago. They've helped me to cope with my grief." The Sue smiled shakily through her tears and sat down.

"It is true; my own daughter was attacked by Arwen. I had to lock that whining traitor in the dungeon to shield Nimril from her jealous rages," Elrond proclaimed.

Mora was stunned into silence. Things were much, much worse than she had originally thought; Elrond was no longer referring to Arwen as his daughter! That had never happened before ... there had to be a very powerful evil behind all this . . . no foe like anyone she had ever faced before. There was research to be done, but first, she had to pay attention to the drama fest- ahem, "_Council_".

There were several others who should have given lengthy speeches on their experiences regarding the Ring, but most of the stories were cut short. Elrond's own dialogue was no longer than two minutes, where it should have lasted nearly a full hour- naturally there had to be space for Nimril's ever-so-lovely sob story. Glóin didn't speak at all; he was too awed by the Sue to dare speak in her presence. By the time the Council came to an end (a full three hours before it should have) Mora was infuriated. The last straw, however, was when Nimril once again stood and announced,

"Although I have experienced much sorrow in this life, I shall submit to more still for the betterment of Middle-earth. I will do what I can for the good of this world, and I will carry the Ring." Elrond smiled and seemed about to speak, but Mora refused to stay silent any longer. She flew to her feet and strode into the center of the meeting hall. Wincing slightly, she shouted a single word:

"_**TOLO!"**_

_Come._

She had spoken a Word of Command. When used in everyday speech by any other race, they were powerless, but when spoken alone by a Guardian of the Original Tale, the Words of Command could override any spell, any mystic power, and especially any Mary-Sue influence. The particular word Mora had used would do something unseen in Middle-earth since the First Age. She had summoned the Valar to Rivendell.


	5. Chapter 5: The Word

_**A/N: **__I don't know if I'm happy with this rewrite … then again, I wasn't happy with the chapter to begin with, so … you know …_

_**Chapter 5: The Word**_

Mora flinched reflexively as the word left her mouth. A moment later, the familiar pain tore into her body, forcing the Guardian to her knees. She bit her lip and tried desperately not to cry out as the agonizing shockwave continued through her limbs. _This is absolutely ridiculous, _she thought, and would have laughed if the pain was no longer assaulting every fiber of her being. Mora crossed her fingers and prayed that her Word had been successful ...

A hand touched her shoulder. A soft, gentle feeling of warmth spread outwards from the spot on her shoulder, and the pain slowly dissipated. Mora opened her eyes. An overwhelming sense of relief and awe overcame her as she saw who had touched her.

The two Valar were easily the most beautiful creatures she had ever seen. Not even the power of Nimril could diminish them, two of the most powerful beings in all of Middle-earth. The Lord of the Hunt and his wife, Queen of the Blossoming Flowers. Oromë and Vána.

Oromë was exactly as she had pictured him: Inhumanely tall, easily nearing ten feet, with broad, strong shoulders and tanned skin from ages of riding through the sun. His eyes, bluer than the ocean, were fixed on her face. Vána smiled down at the Guardian, the very picture of innocence and beauty. She was nearly the same height as Oromë. Her hair, long and deep red-brown, cascaded down her back, falling in soft waves around her shoulders. On her head was a crown of daisies and roses.

"You should be more careful when calling us, little one." Her soft voice was musical and lilting, and the Vala tilted her head slightly as she spoke. "This is your first summoning; you will be permitted to use the Word only twice more." Mora nodded; she knew of the Three-time Rule.

"What is it you would have us do?" Oromë asked, staring down at her in mild amusement.

"Nimril can't be allowed to become the Ring Bearer. Honored Ones, could you help me stop her?" The Lord of the Hunt nodded.

"We will do what we can." The Valar stood and turned to face the Council. Every member was staring at them in fear and awe, even the Sue herself. No aura could overcome the Valar.

"The girl will not become the Ring Bearer," Vána ordered, fixing the group with a hard stare.

"The Ring Bearer must be one of purest heart and most innocent spirit. No Elf, Man, Dwarf or Ithron is able to resist such an evil, and that includes that elleth." Oromë pointed to Nimril. "Only a Hobbit has the ability to release the One, and so a Hobbit shall carry it."

"Ah, I see what you're getting at!" Bilbo sighed. "We'll have the one that started this whole mess be the one to finish it." He smiled ruefully. Mora's gaze flitted briefly over the old Hobbit, and then moved to Frodo. She gave him a slow nod. The story was falling back into place …

"No, Uncle." Frodo placed a hand on Bilbo's shoulder before continuing. "You've done your part; now it is your time to rest." Slowly, he spoke the four words Mora had been praying for the whole Council: "I will carry it."

_Mora: 1, Nimril: 0._

Of course, the Sue couldn't just let things alone. "No! Frodo, you've been hurt so badly; you can't possibly-" She was silenced by a stern look from Oromë. Nimril nodded slowly. "Do what you believe to be best, my dearest Frodo." She gave him a tearful smile. Several Elves sighed. The Hobbit seemed to reconsider his decision momentarily, but as Vána began to speak again, the look faded from his eyes, and he seemed confident in his decision once more.

"There is the matter of the Ring Bearer's traveling companions. There will be eight others; Nine Riders in black, servants of the Dark Lord, and therefore Nine Walkers, those who shall destroy him."

The Valar began to fade, and Mora stared up at them in shock.

"Wait! We haven't-she's going to-" the Anti-Sue sputtered, but Oromë shook his head.

"Only twice more. Remember that, little one." With that, they were gone.

Mora clenched her hands into fists. It had only been established that Frodo would carry the Ring. There was still a chance for Nimril to step in and ruin the story.

Sure enough, the Sue couldn't help herself. She knelt before Frodo, set her practice staff on the ground, and spoke in a clear voice.

"Although I am not permitted to carry this burden for you, Frodo, I will do what I can to help you. You have my aid in this journey, and I will do whatever I can to make it easier for you." She smiled again as Frodo nodded stupidly, the vacant look reentering his eyes. Aragorn seemed ready to step forwards as well, but Legolas beat him to it.

"I, too, will help the Halfling on his quest. My bow is at your service, Frodo." He nodded to the Hobbit, although he was glancing admiringly at Nimril out of the corner of his eye.

"As is my axe," Gimli grumbled, glaring at Legolas. "No Elven princeling will outdo a Dwarf." The insult was spoken under his breath, and despite the Elf's sharp hearing, he didn't respond. Nimril gave him a look, and the Dwarf immediately apologized. Mora smiled wryly as she stepped back into her corner to take notes. Although the Valar's presence had weakened Nimril's aura, the Sue was regaining her power. It would take a much longer time to rid Middle-earth of her influence- most likely the entire journey, in fact.

"I'd be 'appy to lend me skills ta the Ring Bearer," Gandalf proclaimed, shuffling forwards. He had become an old fool once more … Mora frowned. "Besides, I'll 'ave to continue Nimril's trainin'." He gave the Sue a crooked, toothy smile.

_Too much smiling going on here … for the love of Eru, this is a _war council_, not some kind of happy social gathering_! Mora thought with a grimace.

"Oi! We're coming on the trip, too!" Merry and Pippin charged out of their hiding place. "We're not letting Frodo go on a trip without us!" Merry crossed his arms and glared at Elrond like a spoiled child that had never even heard the word "no." Before Pippin could say anything, Merry added on to his statement: "Besides, you need smart fellows on this quest- people like me an' Pip! Well, maybe not Pip, but he won't be left behind."

_Why won't Pippin speak?_

Aragorn laid his sword beside Nimril's staff. "I, too, will join the quest." He stood on Nimril's right side and glared at Legolas, who glared back with equal vehemence. Both were clearly determined to win Nimril's heart. Elrond nodded.

"Well, then, this case is closed. The verdict is that you shall be called the Fellowship of the Ring! Now, get going; you have to leave tomorrow morning. The Council is dismissed."

Mora stayed behind, scribbling furiously in her notebook as she glared at the pages. That SUE! She was the worst there had ever been in Middle-earth before; the Guardians had chronicled their work extensively, and Mora had never heard of a Sue that could even _speak _before the Valar themselves, let alone almost resist their power. Nimril would be a problem. A very, very large problem.

A lone figure sitting on the ground nearly escaped the Guardian's notice, but when she looked up, she stood and approached whoever it was.

"They didn't let me come …" Sam's voice was thick with sorrow, and he sounded on the verge of tears. "I'm s'posed to protect Frodo! 'Don't you lose him, Samwise Gamgee.' That's what old Gandalf ordered me, just before we left the Shire!"

_So he did remember! Maybe Nimril's not so strong, after all …_

"I was going to show Nimril that song I wrote about her, too!"

_Never mind. _"I'm sorry, Sam," Mora said softly. She was trying to decide what to do, and suddenly, she got it: the idea that could be Nimril's undoing. "Hey, I've got an idea. They left us out of _their_ Fellowship, so let's start our own." Sam stared at her in surprise.

"What do you mean, Miss Moira?" Mora bristled at the name mix up.

"My name is _Mora, _Sam. I mean that we can go on our own quest, one that will … er … it will make Nimril very proud of you. She'll be writing songs about _you_ once she hears about what you've done in the Fellowship we'll create."

"Really?" A dreamy smile crossed his face. "You really think so, Miss Moira?"

"Mor-_A._ No 'i' in there, Sam. Yes, I'm positive!" She practically felt sick, but she kept going. "You'll be Nimril's hero."

"Well, then, of course I'll come along on your journey, Miss Moira! I'll make Nimril proud of me!"

"MORA, SAM!"


	6. Chapter 6: Confrontation

_**A/N: **__I didn't change much for chapter 6; I edited some of the wording and added in a few other things- mainly stuff relating to the books Mora used to read. _

_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own any of the following: __**The Chronicles of Narnia**__, any of Tolkien's works, __**Alice in Wonderland**__, the __**Inheritance Cycle**__, the __**Lunar Chronicles**__, __**A Song of Ice and Fire**_ _or __**The Infernal Devices**__. Mora (and unfortunately Nimril) belong to me. _

_**Warnings: **__There is one minor curse word in here._

**_Chapter 6: Confrontation_**

_Patience is extremely important_, Mora mused as she watched the "Fellowship of Nimril" pack for their journey. She and Sam couldn't leave immediately; besides, she had to at least _try _to break the Sue-influence over some of Rivendell. She'd wait a month, she decided, before leaving Imladris. The Anti-Fellowship would take the same journey as the real Fellowship and clean up Nimril's messes as best they could. They'd meet up with the real Fellowship in Gondor, just before the last battle, and from there Mora would figure out what to do. After all, she had nearly a year before the Battle of the Black Gate.

There was the subject of her Fellowship to think of. At the moment, there were two members: a love-struck Hobbit who could barely swing a sword and a fifteen year old girl whose only weapons were a pencil and the Words of Command, which could all leave her virtually unconscious after a single use. Besides, she could only use each one three times, and she'd used several of them once already. They'd need someone to protect them if they were ambushed, but it would have to be someone whose mind wasn't terribly clouded by the Sue …

The warrior Elf had only crossed Mora's path once or twice, and they hadn't spoken a single word to each other. However, Glorfindel seemed like the obvious choice; he was such a minor character that the Sue couldn't have corrupted him too badly. The Elf was a skilled hunter and tracker, he knew how to live off the wild, and he was one of the best warriors in Rivendell; having him in the Anti-Fellowship would surely boost their chances for survival.

There was also the subject of Arwen. The elleth was locked away in a dungeon, imprisoned by her own father. She could also prove very useful to have; even if she couldn't fight (although the movies disagreed) Arwen's support alone was enough. She was Galadriel's granddaughter; she was respected immensely in dozens of kingdoms across Middle-earth.

"Moira? Moira!" The soft, musical voice broke into the Guardian's thoughts, and she looked up, startled. Nimril stood just in front of her.

"My name is _MORA," _she snapped, standing up. "What do you want, Sue?" The Sue seemed offended for a minute before regaining her composure.

"I wish to bid you farewell before we leave; the Fellowship departs today." She smiled shakily, almost sadly. "I do hope you have good fortune and a lovely stay in Imladris, for however long you may be staying here."

"I live here, Sue," Mora growled. Nimril laughed.

"It would seem that we've both made mistakes on names, Mora. My name is Nimril, remember? Not Sue."

"I was referring to _what_ you are, not _who _you are. You're a Mary-Sue, and you can't seem to take a hint when someone doesn't want to talk to you." The Guardian rolled her eyes at Nimril's shocked and confused expression.

"Wait, I'm a _what?_" she asked. Mora groaned.

"You, Nimril Melbereth whatever-your-name-is, are a Mary-Sue, one of the most scorned and disgusting creatures in existence- but only to people of my world. Everyone here adores you unless they're jealous or from my world, and your influence is so strong, you've changed even the _personalities _of the people here. You are sickeningly perfect, enough to make a person vomit, and you are so unrealistic that I don't know _how _someone could come up with you. You aren't real, and all that you're doing is destroying what is meant to be." There was no mistaking the disgust in Mora's voice or the hostility in her eyes.

Shockingly, Nimril didn't cry- the one thing Mora had expected her to do. "That's awful! I'm … destroying the true way of things?" she gasped, hands flying to her mouth. "How am I doing such a thing? I can't possibly be doing this of my own free will! I must be possessed, or cursed perhaps!" Mora interrupted her babbling.

"It's your _actions, _Sue. Because you _had _to come to Imladris, the REAL daughter of Elrond, Arwen Undomiel- you know, the Evenstar- she was thrown into the _dungeons! _Her lover, the rightful king of Gondor, is fawning over _you _like you're some kind of _goddess! _Samwise Gamgee isn't part of the quest because of you_! _If you'd taken Frodo's place as the Ring Bearer, the _entire future would have been rewritten, and that can't happen! _Because _you _showed up, the entire fate of this world, not to mention my life, is in danger!" Mora raged, yelling in the Sue's face. She snorted in disgust, turned away, and began her twisting walk to the Secret Room. "Damn Sue."

Nimril stared after the Guardian, appalled by the girl's language and shocked at what she'd been told. "A … Mary-Sue?" She made a decision right then and there: she was going to change. Nimril Elithil Melbereth Glossiel was no longer going to be a Mary-Sue!

"Fat chance, SUE!" Mora called over her shoulder. Oh, wait … had she said that out loud?

-V-

_Nimril and the "Fellowship" left four days ago, _Mora wrote. _Just before they left, Nimril said she wanted to change; she wants to try and quit being a Sue. Ha! Ha! That's a pretty funny joke, now that I think about it. Saying that she's going to stop being a Sue is like me saying I'm going to stop being a Guardian._

She set down the pencil and slammed the book shut, her anger suddenly inflamed at the thought of her Guardianship. It hadn't been voluntary; she'd been forced into the job, and she despised it still, even after three years of her work. Fighting Sues, driving away creatures from other universes, keeping the characters acting like they should … it sounded like a glamorous job. If she had wanted to, she could have traveled across Middle-earth and see all of the fantastic and magical places Tolkien had described in his books. Any other Tolkien fan would have _loved _to be in her shoes, she was sure. They'd love the adventure of it, meeting the characters they'd always read about, getting to learn the beautiful languages of Middle-earth … the whole "Guardian thing" sounded fantastic.

The drawbacks, however, were tremendous. Never allowed to return home, she'd never see her family again. She had loved to read Tolkien's books, sure, but that was all she _ever _read now; there had been no time to bring anything from her world to Middle-earth. Gone were her adventures to Narnia and Wonderland through stories. She would never again be able to fly with Saphira or fight alongside Queen Daenerys and her dragons. Mora's books were gone, all but her copies of Tolkien's works. It was awful.

The Words of Command were an especially large irritation. True, they gave Mora power over even the Valar themselves, but if she used even one, a memory of her home would disappear. She would be plagued by various forms of excruciating physical pain. Apparently, according to Alice, it was possible to grow used to the pain, and Guardians that had been there for a long time could use the Words without too much trouble- but that day was a long ways off for Mora. And then, there was the Three-time Rule.

It was moderately simple to understand: every Word of Command could be used only three times in a Guardian's lifetime. Each time, the pain got worse; she knew that firsthand, having used the Word "Losto," or sleep, all three times.

The responsibility, the times she was shunned and hated by the characters in their Sue-influenced states, the pain, the homesickness … Mora loathed every aspect of Guardianship. She'd much rather still be sitting in her dim bedroom with rock and roll music cranked all the way up, fanning herself in the heat of summer and eagerly reading _Cinder _or _Clockwork Angel_. She would much rather be powerless and back at her computer desk, typing away until the earliest hours of the morning.

Mora sighed as she pushed the book away, leaning back in her chair. She'd have to try and de-Sue-ify Glorfindel tomorrow; he was a crucial part of her Anti-Fellowship. For now, she would settle for cursing about Nimril under her breath and planning how to get Arwen out of the dungeon.


	7. Chapter 7: Q & A

_**A/N: **__Here is le edit for chapter 7; I didn't change much, since I was pretty happy with how this one was originally XD_

_**Warning: **__A few curse words in this chapter._

**_Chapter 7: Q & A_**

Glorfindel sat in the gardens, deep in thought as he stared at the ground. Mora couldn't help but shiver as she cautiously approached the furious looking Elven warrior. The stories about Elves being very intimidating when angry were all true, she decided, seeing the cold fury blazing in his icy blue eyes.

"Who are you? Are you on the side of the Defiler?" he hissed, fixing his eyes on hers as she approached.

_Defiler? Is that … Nimril? _Mora decided that it was, and she shook her head. "No, Lord Glorfindel. I am Mora, Guardian of the Original Tale." When he raised an eyebrow, she clarified. "I fight against Nimril-er… I mean the Defiler," she added hastily when she saw Glorfindel's expression.

He gave her a wary look, and then nodded. "If you are against the Defiler, you are welcome here, young Mora." She smiled. He'd gotten her name right. "You have a question for me. What is it you wish to know?"

"I am going after the Defiler. I'm going to follow her and the Fellowship, and I will undo any messes she's made on the way. Would you be able to join me and my Anti-Fellowship?"

The Elven warrior went silent, closing his eyes and thinking carefully. Mora fidgeted uncomfortably in the silence.

"That is not a question I can answer immediately, young Guardian. I will have to think on this matter. Please, come to me tomorrow, in this same place. I will inform you of my decision then."

Mora nodded. "Thank you, Lord Glorfindel." She bowed slightly before hurrying out of the gardens. There were preparations to make.

-V-

Nimril's thoughts were anywhere but the quest. She was still pondering what Marla- or was it Monica? - had said to her. The name was unimportant, she decided. What _was_ important were the words. _You've changed even the _personalities _of the people here! _That couldn't be right; no one had ever acted any differently, at least, not as far as she had seen in her time in Imladris. _Everyone adores you- unless they're jealous. _Who wouldn't love her? Then again, _Arwen _had despised her … Nimril shrugged dismissively. Of course Arwen was jealous! The elleth's beauty could not match that of a Maia's daughter, quite obviously.

_You're sickeningly perfect and COMPLETELY unrealistic! _That sentence stuck in the elleth's mind; no one was perfect, of course! Not even SHE was perfect! Then again, perhaps the bizarre mortal was right; maybe she WAS too perfect! Nimril sighed and shook her head dejectedly. She didn't know enough about these "Mary-Sue" creatures Marina had kept referring to … without more information, she would have a nearly impossible time figuring out how to change.

Suddenly, her face brightened. Perhaps she could summon Macey there to her! That way, the girl would accompany the Fellowship on their quest, and she could tell Nimril more about Mary-Sues and how to stop being one. She smiled. It was the perfect plan, of course. Despite Marissa's cold and dismissive (not to mention rude) demeanor, the Elf was positive that she could eventually become good friends with the mortal. She smiled happily. Yes, that's exactly what she would do.

First, though, she would have to convince Gandalf to teach her how to summon people …

"Hello, dear Gandalf," Nimril said softly, stepping closer to the Ithron.

"'Ullo, Lady Nimril!" He exclaimed, slowly pulling himself to his feet. He leaned heavily on his staff as he gave her a toothy smile. "What can I do for ye t'day?"

"Could you teach me something, Gandalf?" She asked, smiling sweetly. "I would like to know how to summon people." He frowned.

"Well… er… that's awfully advanced! I'm not sure you're ready for it!"

"Oh, please, Gandalf! I really must learn! Something … something terrible is going to happen if I don't summon a specific person very soon!" She gave him a pleading, teary eyed gaze, and he immediately submitted.

"Aw, alright, Lady Nimril. I'll teach ya." She smiled warmly again. She always won. Of course, she learned the incantation after only three minutes; it never took her long to learn anything. She resolved to wait until that night to summon Melissa.

-V-

As it turned out, waiting was a bad idea- very, very bad. The summoning spell hadn't worked, for some reason, and so Nimril resolved to simply call to Mara and allow the two to communicate over the long distance. The second the incantation was complete, she said the girl's name.

"Maddie? Are you there?" No response. She tried again, louder this time. "Hello? Maaaaaary?" This time, she was met with a string of curses in four different languages that would have made an orc blush.

"Damn it, Sue! Do you have any _idea _what time it is right now?" The mortal girl yelled. "And my name is _MORA! M-O-R-A MORA! _It's like the word 'more' with an 'uh' on the end! Get it through your thick head!"

"I am very sorry, Miss Moira."

"GAH!" There came a sound of something being thrown and breaking, and then a few more curses. "What the hell do you want at _THREE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING? _What is so damned important that you couldn't wait six hours?"

"I very much need your help. I am trying to decide how to begin changing from a Mary-Sue, but I haven't the faintest idea where to begin. Could you perhaps come and aide me, or give me somewhere to start?" She could practically feel the mortal roll her eyes.

"I wouldn't come near you with a fifty foot pole. I _would _help you, but some _genius _decided to call me at _three in the morning, _so I'm unable to think at the moment," she said dryly. "If you _have _to have my help, then fine, but don't call me again. I'll contact you _at a decent hour _if I feel like helping. Good _bye."_ The voice connection broke, and Nimril frowned. That mortal girl _really _needed to clean up her language a bit …


	8. Chapter 8: Escape

_**A/N: **__Here is the edited version of chapter 8._

_**Chapter 8: Escape**_

"You want me to do WHAT?" Nimril shrieked.

Mora winced; she was pretty sure her eardrums had just exploded. "You heard me. Kill. It. With. Fire. Well, actually, the fire's not necessary. Just kill it," she amended.

"But … I love Rosspen dearly! I couldn't bear to harm her!" the Sue wailed.

"Fine. Stay a Sue, for all I care. Pegasi don't belong in this world; one way or another, it's gonna die, whether its killed by _you, _allowing you to take a step away from non-Suedom, or _I _can kill it when I catch up to it. P.S., I have Words of Command; I can kill that thing from where I'm sitting." Nimril went silent, and Mora shook her head in disgust. She was hoping she wouldn't have to pull the Words out of her pocket; she had to be strong for that night.

Glorfindel had accepted her offer, thankfully. He was packing his things while Mora finished talking to Nimril. It was well past sunset; if she had to guess, the Guardian would say that it was around 9:30. Everyone had gone to bed, with the exception of herself and Glorfindel. The Elf warrior was planning to wake up Sam while Mora went to break Arwen out of the dungeons.

"Could I … could I send her away, instead? To another world, perhaps?" the Sue asked tentatively.

"No. Kill it. World teleportation is Sue powers; you're not allowed to use them again, from here on out. Now go kill that thing; I've got stuff to do. I'll contact you again tomorrow morning, and if it isn't _dead on the ground, _I will do it myself. Trust me; I can get it, even in another world." Mora cut the connection with a snap of her fingers, ignoring Nimril's desperate protests.

She turned her attention back to her bedroom. The shelves were empty; every book had been stuffed into her "Mary Poppins bag," as Mora liked to call it. The bag had been charmed by the Valar when it had been given to one of the first Guardians, and it had been passed down from Guardian to Guardian ever since. It could hold practically anything at all, no matter how heavy, and its weight never increased past 10 pounds.

Mora had also packed some of the group's necessary food into the bag, and she'd decided reluctantly to pack her dagger. The dagger was mostly ceremonial; it was the most Sue-ish looking dagger there was, with the exception of the inscription on the blade. It read "Bainthorethgûr," or "Mary-Sue Death." Potentially, it could kill any Mary-Sue- but only if driven through their eye. It would shatter on impact, not only destroying the Sue, but also the wielder of the dagger. Mora regarded it warily before dropping it into the bag. She closed her bag and slung the strap over her head. There was nothing else she needed in the room.

The Guardian stepped outside, pulled the door shut behind her and locked it before hurrying down the hallway. She had to meet Glorfindel near the dungeons.

-V-

"Good, you came with haste. We do not have much time," the Elven warrior remarked as Mora approached. She nodded.

"You're heading to get Sam, right?"

"Samwise Gamgee? Of course. You should leave with Lady Undomiel; you will be at the height of suspicion once the alarm is sounded. Wait for me and the hobbit just outside the gate."

"Got it. The plan is for me to use a Word of Command to blast open her cell door, and then we can escape through the window. They're just boarded up, right?" Glorfindel nodded. "Good. I'm pretty sure I can break through that with a piece of the door."

"Why go to the trouble of using a Word when you could simply break the lock?" he asked, holding out a small hammer and smirking. "This hammer is of Elven- make; it will not shatter against anything, and it will break straight through any metal." Mora wanted to ask where he'd gotten a tool originally made for thievery, but she decided that it was probably better not to find out. The Guardian accepted the hammer with a word of thanks. "I will go wake Samwise. We will be at the front gate when you and Lady Undomiel arrive if you do not escape first." The warrior departed soundlessly. Mora took a deep breath before heading deeper into the dungeons.

-V-

"I'm visiting a prisoner," she announced to the guard standing at the entrance. He nodded to her, and she passed by him. Mora found the Evenstar on the very bottom level, bound in chains and locked tightly in a cell. She seemed to be asleep. "Psst. Arwen, wake up!" The Guardian whispered. The elleth woke with a start, glaring out at Mora.

"Who are you? Have you come to force me into submitting to the Defiler? I won't do it, I swear to Elbereth!" she hissed angrily.

Involuntarily, Mora took a step back. Arwen was so enraged that she was practically spitting fire. "No. I'm not on Nimril's side. My name is Mora; I'm a Guardian, which means that I have to fight creatures like the Defiler. I'm here to help you escape, and I also need your help."

The imprisoned creature's anger became curiosity, "Why would you need the help of a scorned Elf?" She asked bitterly.

"I've started something I call the 'Anti-Fellowship.' Right now, it's just me, Samwise Gamgee and Glorfindel, and I would like _you _to join us in our hunt for the Defiler." The elleth looked interested.

"If you can free me, young Mora, I would be honored to join you." The Guardian smiled and pulled the hammer out of her pocket.

"I have a feeling that this will do the trick." She tapped it lightly against the lock on Arwen's cell, which immediately shattered into a thousand pieces and fell to the ground, barely making a noise as the shards hit. "Well. That was certainly effective," she observed, stepping into the cell. "So, Arwen … I've always been curious … do you know how to fight, or were you never taught?"

"I was taught, of course, although I've fought little other than a sparring partner."

"Awesome."

With one last tap of the hammer, the chains fell away from Arwen's body. She sprang to her feet, smiling dangerously, "Let us go hunt a foul monster."

It was just then that the guard came into view.

_**Elvish translations:**_

_**Bainthoreth: Mary-Sue**_

_**Gûr: Death**_

_**Undomiel: Evenstar**_

_Translations were found on the website "Merin Essi ar Quenteli!" at realelvish dot net._


	9. Chapter 9: Night in the Woods

_**A/N: **__I didn't change anything in this chapter besides a few very small grammar mistakes that aren't even noticeable- just letting you know._

_**Chapter 9: A Night in the Woods**_

"You, there! What are you doing with the prisoner out of her cell?" The guard shouted, rushing towards them.

"Lord Elrond ordered me to bring her to see him," Mora responded evenly, standing her ground as the guard paused just in front of them. She held Arwen's arm tightly, and the elleth responded by glaring down at her. The Guardian realized how unconvincing they must be; a short little girl holding an Elf captive? The guard raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"For one with such a way with words, you are not a very accomplished liar, Guardian Mora," he told her in a level tone. Slowly, carefully, Mora released Arwen. The Elf immediately launched herself at the guard, slamming her hand into the back of his head. He collapsed soundlessly, and Mora could only stare in awe.

"Hurry. If any of the other guards heard that, they'll be down here very soon. We must leave immediately."

"Remind me to _never _make an Elf angry," the Guardian said as she quickly followed the elleth.

-V-

Glorfindel and Sam were waiting for them just outside Rivendell's gate. The Elven warrior was mounted on a magnificent white horse, and the hobbit rode a small spotted pony. Two more horses stood nearby, shifting anxiously as the Elf and the Guardian approached.

"Let's get out of here, and fast," Mora said softly, clumsily mounting the black horse to Glorfindel's right. Arwen pulled herself gracefully into the saddle of the bay, and the four of them rode off into the night, leaving Rivendell far behind them.

As they rode, Sam began to ask questions. "What's going on, Miz Moira? Why'd we have to leave in the middle of the night?" He yawned. Mora gritted her teeth and gripped her stallion's reins tighter.

"We're leaving now because the flocks of unicorns can only be seen by night," she answered dryly.

"We're looking for unicorns? I thought we were following Lady Nimril!" Sam exclaimed in surprise. Mora could only groan.

The group rode quickly through the dark forest. The bitterly cold wind hit Mora in the face, finally forcing her to pull her scarf higher. She had no idea how the Elves were guiding their horses so expertly; she could hardly see in the black night, and the thick trees over their heads were blotting out the moonlight. Her horse stumbled as she led him straight into a tree, and Mora winced. She was beginning to see just how unfit she was for wilderness travel. An owl hooted somewhere in the distance, and she shivered. The place was spooky at night.

"I'm sleepy," Sam announced, almost whining. "And hungry," he added. Glorfindel glanced back at the Guardian, and she realized that he was waiting for instructions.

"Lord Glorfindel, you are _completely _in charge of this group when we're traveling in the forest. I haven't got the slightest idea how to get around, I can't see a thing, and I don't know how to get to Lorien from here." She nodded to him. "Do what you think is best."

"We'll stop just ahead for the night. I will take first watch, and Arwen, you may take second. Samwise …" his gaze passed right over Sam. "Lady Mora, will you be able to keep watch tonight?"

She shrugged. "I guess I can, although I won't be much use if we get attacked."

"Very well. Arwen will wake you when her shift is over."

-V-

Mora didn't sleep well that night. She'd set up her thin bedroll under a makeshift tent and attempted to fall asleep, but the sounds of the night haunted her dreams. Crickets played a spooky melody that drifted through her mind. The wind whistled through the branches, which tapped loudly against each other. Once or twice, an owl's hoot scared her awake and she was positive that there was an entire tree growing under her bedroll. She tossed and turned for what felt like hours before drifting into an uneasy sleep… only to be woken by Arwen.

"It's about three," the elleth whispered, shaking her shoulder. "It's your turn to keep watch." _Three. _Glorfindel had talked about leaving at six, so Mora had to stay awake for three more hours until the others woke up. The Guardian wordlessly stepped outside her tent and took a seat on a fallen log. Arwen, she noticed jealously, fell asleep almost immediately. It was just her and the great outdoors.

"Fabulous," she whispered, shivering as a particularly cold gust of wind blew straight through her clothing. Mora knelt by the embers of the fire and blew on them, trying in vain to relight the fire. She sat back down on the log, resigning herself to three hours of pitch black guard duty.

For a few minutes, she contemplated waking Arwen or Glorfindel and asking them to help her with the fire so she could write, but then decided against it. They needed their sleep, especially since they knew how to travel across long distances. Mora was useless in that field, and so she left the two Elves asleep.

She played with her sleeves and the end of her scarf. She braided and unbraided her hair three times. She twiddled her thumbs and tied strands of grass together to form long chains, and yet Mora was still bored out of her mind. Eventually, she tiptoed over to her small tent and searched blindly for her bag, hoping to find a book and try to read or write by whatever moonlight there was. She finally found it (in the farthest corner of the tent, of course) and pulled a book out of it. She hurried back to her seat and inspected the title. _The History of Middle-Earth From the Perspective of the Guardians. _She grinned. It was one of her favorite books, and it was also very applicable to the quest- after all, it was entirely about Mary-Sues that had been fought by the Guardians. Mora opened the book to the first chapter and began to read. She was so absorbed in her book that she didn't hear the footsteps.

"Raaaarrgh!" The battle cry startled her so much that she fell backwards off the stump, throwing her book blindly in the direction of the call. She heard a dull _thud _as the enormous tome collided with something. Mora screamed as loudly as she could as her attacker's face became visible. It was a twisted, gruesome face, battle-scarred and more disgusting than anything she'd ever seen before. It leered at her, tightly gripping a crooked, bloodstained sword and preparing to skewer her. The Guardian covered her face and shrank back in terror, shutting her eyes in preparation for the blow that never came. Rather, a shout of fury rang in her ears, and when she looked up, Glorfindel was standing between her and the creature, wielding a dagger. He skillfully dodged a blow from the thing and stabbed it in the ribs, shoving the body backwards.

"Orcs this close to Imladris is a poor sign indeed," he spat.

"Th-thanks," Mora stuttered, sitting up and dusting off her clothes. She immediately retrieved her book. "Is that- was that really an orc?" The Elven warrior looked at her curiously.

"For one so important to the realm, you seem to have very little knowledge beyond books and language," he stated, wiping off the blade of his dagger. Mora nodded, feeling color creep into her cheeks in embarrassment.

"I've never actually left Rivendell," she muttered. "I stay there until I'm needed to fight off a creature like the Defiler, and even then … I really don't need to go anywhere. Usually they're weak Sues, ones that I can get rid of in a day or three."

"And so you never have a need to leave the house of Elrond," Glorfindel finished. Mora nodded.

"I guess I'm pretty useless when I'm not doing something with books."

"That must be remedied immediately," he decided. "Tomorrow, Arwen and I will begin teaching you the skills necessary for outside survival, and also how to properly wield a blade. Defense is crucial when traveling."

"I-"

"I will continue watch tonight; you may return to your tent." Mora tried to argue, but the Elf wouldn't hear it. He seemed oblivious to her persistent arguments, and after a few minutes, the Guardian had no choice but to return to her tent.


	10. Chapter 10: Member Five

_**A/N: **__Here's the final revised chapter! (Well, at least until I decided to rewrite the entire story all over again … :P) The first new chapter I've done in months will be up on Halloween (or before, if I get lucky.)_

_**Chapter 10: Member Five**_

"Keep your sword up, Mora!"

"Ow!"

"If you'd kept your sword up, you wouldn't have gotten hit." Mora glared at Glorfindel. His attempts to teach her to fight were completely useless so far; all she'd learned was how to get hit with the flat of a sword. Arwen sat on a rock nearby, observing the entire scene and laughing as the human girl continued to fail.

"Oh, I see how it is. Let's all just team up against the poor defenseless Guardian," Mora snapped at the elleth as she received another stinging blow with the flat of Glorfindel's blade.

"I'm sorry … I shouldn't laugh," Arwen chuckled, "…but you really are better suited to the pen than the sword."

"Well, what do you suggest?" the Guardian growled, ducking as Glorfindel struck at her throat.

"Couldn't you use those magic Words you have to learn to fight?" Arwen asked. The question was innocent enough, but Mora frowned at the seated Elf.

"It's not that simple. I suppose I _could, _but I don't know for sure that the skills would last. The Words of Command are also extremely painful to use, and they can each be used only three times each. Besides, that would make me no better than the Defiler. If I magically increase my ability to fight, I'm tampering with the story too much- not to mention 'cheating,' I guess you could say. Sues learn stuff like sword fighting in hours or days; regular people aren't even close to that fast at learning. Guardians don't normally fight, anyways," she finished, trying to block another swing of Glorfindel's sword.

"You're still much too slow," he chided her. "You must be fast and agile when in battle; if you are not, you will not live much longer in the wild."

"Well, I'm sorry that my species wasn't built for fighting," she yelled, throwing down her sword and storming a short distance away. "I'm sorry I'm not perfect like that Sue and I can't learn this crap in a week! I'm a writer, not a warrior!" The two Elves were silent, and strangely enough, it was Sam who spoke up.

"You don't have to be perfect at everything, Miz Moira! You can't possibly be as perfect as Lady Nimril; you ought to be your own person!" Mora bit back an angry retort at the insult as she realized the wisdom in the Sue-influenced Sam's words.

"Maybe you're right," she mused. The Guardian turned. "Glorfindel, it's not going to work. I don't see how I can possibly learn to use a sword as quickly as you want me to. I can _try, _if you really think that it's necessary, but don't expect me to become an expert." The Elf warrior gave her an amused smile.

"_You_ said it, Mora, not me."

-V-

As the four members of the Anti-Fellowship rode through the forest later that day, Mora recorded the events that had come to pass. Thankfully, there seemed to be very few signs of Nimril's meddling so far, although she was concerned for the fate of Moria. She was almost certain that the Sue would take Gandalf's place when fighting the Balrog, or at least attempt to save the wizard's life. The Guardian would have to patch up the story as best she could once the Anti-Fellowship arrived in Moria.

Mora was jolted out of her thoughts when Glorfindel halted the group, looking around with narrowed eyes.

"I heard a sound … something is following us," he informed the Guardian in a low voice. She was instantly alert, looking this way and that to try and spot the stalker. She knew that her help was virtually useless to the Elven warrior, however; he had hundreds- maybe even thousands- of years of experience in the wild. After a few moments, Glorfindel drew his sword. "Come out and show yourself," he called. "If you are a friend, we will bring no harm to you."

Mora held her breath as the rustling sound began again, and a strange looking figure stepped out of the trees. The man walked slightly stooped over, and as he wasn't overly tall to begin with, he didn't seem like a very dangerous person. He was dressed in dusty, well worn brown robes and a furry hat. A collection of odd trinkets hung from a cord that ran from his shoulder to his waist, and a large pouch hung from his belt. The man's beard was long, gray-brown and tangled, as was his unkempt hair. He clutched a strange, twisted staff made of wood, in which a teal crystal was set.

"Who are you?" Sam asked, sounding a bit bewildered. The strange old man bowed to us, smiling broadly.

"Greetings, Glorfindel of Imladris! Good day, Lady Undomiel! It has been many years since I last saw you, many years indeed!" The two elves clearly recognized the man.

"Radagast, it has been too long." Glorfindel sheathed his sword and dismounted. "What brings you to this part of the wild, old friend?" Mora gaped at the Elf in shock.

"Wait, _Radagast_? As in, Radagast the Brown?" The wizard beamed.

"You've heard of me, I see! And who might you be, young lady?"

"Er … I- uh- Mora," she finally stuttered. Arwen inspected her curiously.

"You're not usually this inarticulate, Mora. Does something surprise you?"

"Yeah … the fact that I'm literally only the second Guardian to ever meet Radagast the Brown is a little overwhelming," she admitted to the elleth. Radagast's face lit up at the word "Guardian."

"Oh, a Guardian, are you? You are correct, miss, that I've only known one other of your kind! Mister Thomas, I believe it was ... or was it Trevor?" He mused over the name of the other Guardian, and Glorfindel grinned.

"He's a bit of a scatterbrain," the Elf warrior whispered to Mora. She nodded absently, flipping open her notebook. She had a barrage of ideas running through her mind, and they had to be put on paper before she forgot them. The Elves and the wizard exchanged friendly chatter for a while and Sam watched absently, probably dreaming about Nimril and the poem he wanted to give to her.

"So, Radagast," Mora said suddenly, interrupting the wizard in the middle of a report on the health of his rabbits, "Have you ever heard of the Defiler, who goes by the name of Nimril Melbereth-" The look on Radagast's face silenced her.

"I have had the misfortune to cross paths with that foul bit of toad droppings," he said, looking as though he'd swallowed something rotten. "She cast some sort of dark enchantment on me, I'm sure … all of a sudden I found myself singing to her like a bird! 'Twas a terrible encounter, terrible. Very terrible. Absolutely awful, in fact." He broke off, muttering to himself.

"How would you like to help remove her, to make sure that no one ever has to experience that again?" the Guardian asked. The wizard looked at her curiously.

"That's right, Guardians fight those things! I'd nearly forgotten; it's been ages since I last met one!"

"Yes, we fight Defilers- Sues, as we call them. I've formed an Anti-Fellowship to chase her down and get rid of her, but we're a few members short. Would you be willing to join us?" Radagast beamed at her.

"Why, I would love to help you, young Mora! So, where are we off to?"


	11. Chapter 11: The Long Expected Chapter

_**A/N: **__Here it is- the long awaited chapter 11! :D :D :D (Which I'm not actually happy with, although I think the next chapter will be better than this one.) There will be more O.O.C. ness in this chapter, so beware. To recap the author's note that used to be here:_

_1. I am only going to be working on this story and The Journey of Fire's Song, so hopefully (hopefully) I won't have to go on any more long hiatuses. Updates will be approximately once a week/every other week._

_2. Chapters 1-10 have been rewritten- some more than others. There is a new cover that was made on paint, and a drawn cover is coming soon._

_3. Starting November 1rst, I will not be writing any fan fiction- at least until December 1rst. I have written a few chapters in addition to this one, so I can update a few times during November, but they probably won't be great quality, since I rushed them a little bit._

_4. Don't trust any promises I make regarding fan fiction, because I will very likely not keep them._

_5. Please don't kill me._

_**TWO NEW THINGS:**_

_1. There is a poll on my profile regarding our good friend Mora the Anti-Sue._

_2. I have a new website specifically for fan fiction stuff! There is a gallery with pictures of the characters on it. The web address (which can also be found on my profile) is firestormnauralagos . webs . com (without the spaces.)_

_3. I am making some fairly massive changes to the direction this story is going in- some of which you might not all like. I would really appreciate any constructive* criticism regarding the plot. If there is something that you really don't like, LET ME KNOW; as I said, there are some things that I am not necessarily expecting a great reaction to, so tell me what you don't like __**and why**__. Thanks in advance :3_

_*con·struc·tive_

_kənˈstrəktiv/_

_1. __**serving a useful purpose; tending to build up. (AKA not flames)**_

_And now, please enjoy le chapter! :D_

_**Chapter 11: The Long Expected Chapter**_

Nimril stared blankly at Rosspen. Rosspen stared blankly back.

"Mora wants me to kill you," the elleth finally stated with a frown. The pegasus gave a little shrug and ruffled her wings.

_Do as you must, my lady, _Rosspen muttered, although her heart didn't quite seem to be in it. Nimril steeled her resolve, stood up and raised her practice staff- and then lowered it with a sigh. She poked the pegasus with the end of the staff. Rosspen sat still and eyed her owner warily, but didn't move more than a few inches.

"I simply cannot do it," Nimril sighed, tossing her staff to the ground and sat down once again. "This transformation business is far more difficult than I anticipated, Rosspen. It is as though the girl expects a miracle- one that I, unfortunately, am unable to perform." She sighed again. "I suppose …perhaps if I send you elsewhere- and then I do not _tell _Mara, perhaps she will leave you alone," the Sue mused. "No, I gave my word … I must kill you." She picked up her staff once again, pointed it at the pegasus and shouted, "_Avada kedavra_*!" Nothing happened.

_Er … my lady, I believe you have the wrong story, _Rosspen commented.

"Oh … right." The Sue bit her lip. "I'll miss you, Rosspen. You have been good to me, and I regret that this is goodbye." She threw her arms around the mare's neck and hugged her; Rosspen responded by wrapping her wings around her owner.

_It is for the greater good, Lady Nimril, _she replied gloomily.

"Do not fear, mellon nin. I am sure you will be happy there."

_Where?_

"Nínion ne gwad lîn, Rosspen of Imladris. **Drego." **In a shower of pink glitter, Rosspen disappeared. Nimril had no idea where she had sent the pegasus, but hopefully she would be well cared for there. The slightest hint of guilt prodded the Sue's mind, but she ignored it. Violence was never the right answer; it was obviously best for Rosspen to live elsewhere, if she was not permitted to stay in Middle-earth.

"Why so sorrowful, my lady?" a voice purred from nearby. Nimril turned to glance at the speaker. It was that strange Gondorian warrior- Bordomir, or something like that. He was smiling sickeningly at her, and although his grin made her want to shudder, the elleth smiled politely in return.

"I had to say goodbye to a very old friend of mine," she informed him sadly.

"A pity. Such a lovely flower as yourself should never be sorrowful." He reached out to brush his hand against her face, and Nimril turned away from him. "I am sorry; have I offended you?"

"Not at all, good Bordomir, but my grief is still quite close to my heart." Nimril shrugged. "I apologize for my coldness." The man raised an eyebrow.

"Bordomir? My lady, I fear that you have mistaken me for someone else, for I am Boromir of Gondor, son of Denethor." He gave a small bow. The Sue nodded to him.

"Of course. My mistake."

"Is this man bothering you, Lady Nimril? I will defend your honor, if you desire it," Aragorn spoke up, unsheathing his sword with an overly grand flourish.

"Thank you, my Lord Eragon, but he has done nothing to insult me." The Ranger seemed confused.

"Eragon?"

"Did I call you by the wrong name, as well? Oh, dear, I seem to be a bit forgetful of late," the Sue said, flustered.

"My- my lady," Legolas murmured shyly, "...if you tire of these two foolish Men, I would be happy to escort you elsewhere." Nimril gave him a small smile.

"Thank you, Thranduilion, but I am content at the moment."

"And why should she tire of my company? No Man is better than Aragorn, son of Arathorn," the Man in question proclaimed angrily, waving his sword at Legolas, who took several steps back. Nimril frowned as she thought back on her first conversation with the Guardian …

"_The Evenstar is in the dungeons! Her lover, the rightful king of Gondor, is fawning over you like you're some kind of _goddess!" Aragorn was supposed to love Arwen, not Nimril. _This is bad, _the Sue thought, watching the Ranger argue with Boromir and Legolas. She should tell Aragorn to leave them alone, that she would never love him. She should send him back to the elleth he truly loved. Nimril stood and opened her mouth to speak. Legolas and Boromir went silent.

"What is it, my lady? I am trying to prove to these buffoons that I am the greatest!" Aragorn said, although beneath his respectful tone was underlying irritation. It would be so easy … she only had to say a few words.

_I do not love you. I will never love you. I DO NOT LOVE YOU. _Her lips formed the words. She stared straight at the Ranger- but nothing came out. Confused, Nimril tried once again to speak. _I do not love you. I will never love you. _It was as though someone had coated her tongue with sawdust … she found that it was impossible to speak.

"I … I need a moment alone," the Sue finally stammered. She turned and dashed away from the three.

"Oh, my … I believe our quarrel has upset her," she faintly heard Legolas inform the others. That wasn't it at all … _why couldn't I say those five simple words?_

-V-

Nimril was surprised when she was contacted by Mora that night. Usually the Guardian would refuse to speak with the Sue unless Nimril cast the spell, and so when Mora's voice cut into the air, the elleth jumped in surprise.

"Did you kill it?"

"Y-yes." The lie rolled easily off her tongue; usually Nimril preferred the truth to falsehoods, but she had always been a fast learner.

"Good." Mora sounded satisfied; perhaps she couldn't _really _tell that Rosspen still lived, or maybe she was just too tired to check. The Guardian sounded absolutely exhausted.

"Are you well, Miss Maria?"

"Yes, I'm fine, not that you'd care," the Guardian replied harshly. "Tomorrow, you tell your other three pets to leave and never come back again; no one can tame a damn snow leopard to let it ride her, so it needs to go." She cut the connection.

"Very well," Nimril sighed, even though Mora could no longer hear her. At least Helchien, Gwaeren and Helegion would still be in Middle-earth ...

_*The author has been reading too much Harry Potter fan fiction lately, and it seems to be influencing her writing._

_**Elvish translations:**_

_Nínion ne gwad lîn- I cry upon your leaving_

_Drego- flee/go_


	12. Chapter 12: The Enemy

_**A/N: **__Oyes- I am back in business! :D NaNoWriMo was awesome/exhausting and I WON! xD (Well, the young adult version of it, anyways- 25,000 words in a month! :D) Since THAT is over, I've got some free time, so le updating schedule should be back to normal- about a chapter a week, if I can stay on top of things (which has been a lot easier lately; there shouldn't be much of a problem.)_

_Muchos gracias to BuBuWinter for the review! :D Thanks for mentioning the grammar, amiga- I will go back and look that over as soon as I get a chance to :3_

**_Chapter 12: The Enemy_**

When Glorfindel finally announced that they were stopping for the night, Mora all but fell off her horse's back. Her relief was short lived, however- the Elf had his sword in hand and was waiting impatiently for her. Arwen passed her curved Elvish blade to Mora, who reluctantly dragged herself to the area that Glorfindel had marked.

"Recite everything you need to remember," the Elf warrior instructed her. Mora rolled her eyes but complied.

"Keep your sword up. Stay on both feet unless absolutely necessary. Watch your opponent's hips and shoulders for clues about their next movements. Pay attention to your surroundings and keep your sword up. Why do I have to say that last one twice?"

"Because you always forget to; your biggest flaw is that you always lower your guard and back up when I attack."

"Maybe it's because you're coming at me with a gigantic freaking sword!" the Guardian snapped, glaring at him. Glorfindel chuckled.

"Mora, you do know that an orc isn't going to politely warn you, do you not? An orc, a goblin, a warg, any of those will simply run towards you and attack. They will not hold back to prevent from harming you, as I will."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, but-"

"Hide!" Arwen shouted suddenly, tossing her pack under a large rock. The elleth called something in Sindarin to the horses, who galloped off. Sam looked around for a moment, completely flustered, before Arwen tugged him under a clump of bushes. Radagast shrugged before stepping behind a boulder, which left only Glorfindel and Mora. The two quickly joined Arwen in hiding.

"What do you see?" Glorfindel asked.

"Crebain- filth of Isengard. They have been alerted to guard this pass more heavily … something disturbed them," the elleth whispered back. The Anti-Fellowship waited in silence as the flock of crebain flew over them. When the mountainside was quiet once again, they emerged from their hiding places and gathered their things.

"It will not be safe to continue on our current path, Lady Mora," Glorfindel informed her as he sheathed his sword. "We are heading far too close to Isengard; you mentioned Lothlórien as a destination. There are two possible routes: one will take us through the Mines of Moria, and the other, over the Caradhras." The Elf warrior pointed towards the snow-capped mountains in the distance. "The Mines would be the safer route-"

"No." The Guardian shook her head. "We can't go through Moria. Besides, Saruman won't be bothered with five people struggling over the Caradhras; he has other things to deal with, such as the real Fellowship. Getting the One Ring back is his main focus, even with Nimril's meddling."

"Lady Mora, you are not dressed for a trip over the mountains."

"I'm not stupid; I brought a coat with me," she retorted, tapping the side of her "Mary Poppins" bag. Glorfindel shrugged and began checking what supplies he had in his pack.

"Don't think that the interruption cancelled our lesson, Lady Mora," the Elf called over his shoulder, grinning at Mora's sour expression.

"Er- oh, that's right! I almost forgot- I've got a very important message to send real quick. I'll be right back!" She hurried away on her own, nearly crashing into Radagast in her haste to escape. Arwen and Glorfindel looked at each other and immediately burst out laughing.

-V-

Nimril sat gracefully on a large boulder, toying with a lock of hair while Gandalf tried to force open the gates of Moria. She glanced over her shoulder to where Merry was trying to goad Pippin into entering the murky lake.

"Psst. Hey, Sue. I need to talk to you," Mora's voice hissed in her ear. Nimril looked around at the other members of the Fellowship. They were otherwise occupied; none of the men would bother her if she went for a short walk. The elleth rose and hurried away, taking shelter behind a second rock.

"What is it, Lady Mara?" There was a faint hiss of annoyance, but the Guardian continued with her message in an equally level, albeit slightly strained tone.

"You're in Moria, right?"

"Very nearly. Gandalf must first open the doors, and then we will enter the mine."

"Okay. Great; I've got a few days to work with, then. Towards the end of Moria, something really awful is going to happen- trust me, you'll know it when it happens. You can't interfere, got it? You can't stop what's going to happen, and if you so much as lift a finger the wrong way, Sue, I will knock you unconscious to keep you from screwing something up. This is a major turning point in the Original Tale, and I can't afford to let you ruin it." She paused for a moment, and Nimril considered her words.

"What kind of tragedy do you speak of?" The Guardian hesitated another moment.

"If I say it, you'd better _swear _you won't mention it to anyone, especially not the Fellowship."

"Very well. I will not say a word of your secret to anyone."

"There's a Balrog near the Bridge of Khazad-dûm; Gandalf is going to die fighting it." Mora waited for the gasp of shock- which didn't come, surprisingly enough.

"And this … this is a good thing?" Nimril asked tentatively. "How is the death of an Ithron _good_?"

"I've told you too much as it is, Sue. Just remember what I told you," the Guardian replied grumpily. "Get back to your … _Fellowship_. I've got work to do." She didn't sound excited at the prospect of this 'work' of her's, but Nimril didn't question Mora. The elleth was starting to learn that questioning a Guardian was a very bad idea …

-V-

Mora knew exactly how long it would take the "real" Fellowship to reach the Balrog, but she had to be sure that Nimril wouldn't interfere. After all, her good, sweet, kindly heart probably couldn't resist saving Gandalf. She rolled her eyes. Secretly, the Guardian was surprised at Nimril's success thus far; Mora's expectations hadn't been high (they still weren't) and the Sue would probably fail at her quest, but if Nimril could de-Sue-ify herself, that could save Mora a great deal of trouble. Until that happened (if it happened) she would need to be watched closely.

The Guardian pulled her bag closer and stuck her hand in, picturing the item she needed. From the bag, she removed what, at first glance, looked like an ordinary composition notebook. Mora ran a finger along the cover, flipped it open and read the words that began to appear on the page …

_Nimril watched in horror as Gandalf turned to face the Balrog, raising his staff and shouting uncharacteristic obscenities at it. Perhaps the other Maia had insulted the wizard at a family gathering. _Mora rolled her eyes. Of course the notebook had her own sarcastic humor. Why wouldn't it? After all, it had been created to help the Guardian record events as they happened without having to experience them. _The elleth stood on the Bridge, unmoving. Realization dawned on her that this was it- this was the end of Gandalf the Grey. _Pathetic, cheesy … not at all something Mora would write. She frowned.

"_Gandalf!" Frodo cried as the wizard was dragged to the edge of the cliff, barely hanging on to the rock face. _This was it. The Guardian prepared to say a Word if it was necessary. _Nimril clenched her fists, and summoning every ounce of strength in her body, she turned her back on the Ithron. _One foot in front of the other, Nimril, _she thought, but as she lifted her foot to take a step- something made her stop. The elleth found herself turning back to face the cliff, and as hard as she tried, she could not stop. Her feet were moving all on their own, as if possessed. Nimril's steps were slow, almost forced, but she could not even stop, let alone go the other way._

Something clicked in Mora's brain. She knew exactly what was going on, and it was _not _good. Her job had just gotten fifty times harder. The Guardian grabbed the ever-present pencil tucked behind her ear and began writing furiously, attempting to overtake the words in her notebook.

**Nimril stopped walking- she stopped walking, knowing that she could **_**not **_**save Gandalf, no matter how much she wanted. The Sue thought back on Mora's words and remembered that she needed to stop walking. Stop walking!**

It wasn't working; Nimril was still approaching the edge of the cliff. Mora swore loudly, threw down the pencil and notebook, pictured Nimril's face and spoke her chosen Word:

**Daro. **

_Stop. _Nimril froze in place, unable to move, but Mora was unable to view her success. The Guardian was convulsing in pain as her stomach all but turned itself inside out. _It will be over soon,_ she told herself, digging her fingers into the cold soil. For once, the pain barely registered in Mora's brain, which was working overtime despite the effects of the Word. She now knew exactly what was going on, and why this was going to be a much harder task than any Sue she had ever faced. Now the Suethor was involved.


End file.
